that the little one is on the cover of a book written by someone she calls “my friend Angie“, who sends her video’s to answer questions that the little one sends her way because, well, that’s just what these two do!

“At the heart of every family tradition is a meaningful experience” traditions are traditions — and round these parts, this time of the year means this momma makes her home-made peppermint patties. when we went gluten-free/wheat-free years ago I gave … Continue reading →

a week ago I sat in a small office with a wee spit-fire of a woman who has become more than just the little one’s special education teacher and IEP team case manager — she’s become someone I trust. someone I can confide in. someone who I know, deep down, cares for the little one completely – for her learning and for who she is as a person.

that time together, a week ago, we sat and signed a 25+ page well crafted and well planned IEP for the little one. there were some changes I had asked for that were immediately given – little more OT here, little bit of clarification to safety goals there and some finessing of so much more. page after page of goals and objectives and, dare I say, genuine care for this child and this child’s success. there is nothing so humbling than seeing page after page of interventions for your child but I signed it without hesitation. I trust that the words written on those pages will be carried out and reviewed continually. I trust that the team that surrounds this child is beyond compare and that every day they go above and beyond (and then beyond again). not because they have to but because they want to.

~ ~ ~

so, tonight, the little one and I sifted and poured, counted and tied, decorated and lovingly signed a name to each and every single card – often asking “who’s this for?” and smiling broadly when I said each name. there are twelve bags filled with the same treat from our family – it’s not much but it’s from the heart.

{and it comes from deep within our family heart, which is so full of gratitude}

twelve bags for twelve dedicated educators, therapists, one-on-one aides. twelve dedicated people who support this child through her day and cheer on the small and large successes. this is her village. this is my village – my people who so genuinely give to her – and, in turn, give to me.

to our school therapists (speech, OT, behavioral and even adaptive PE) and educators (general, special and amazing one-on-one) and our private therapists (music, speech and counseling) – I have no words for my gratitude for what you so beautifully give to this child. she would not be where she is today without each of you doing what you do so very, very well.

this. this is our village – up here in the north in our little home and school in the woods.

and in that learning, I hope that I also grow some, add to my collective inner wisdom some, bring a little something more to the world around me.

but in the learning and the seeking of experience, I also hope that I’m modeling some for the little eyes and ears that walk this journey beside me. for the little one, her learning looks different than mine — her mind sees things uniquely and ingests the world around us quite uniquely. she understands it all in way that is both very refreshing and, yet, often prism-like in the stained glass fragmentation of it all. it is complex, it is multi-dimensional, it is a place of both great struggle for her and also of great joy, this ying and yang of learning and understanding.

when we headed north, it was a direct reaction to schooling and educational opportunity for a little one. in the school in the woods, she now has an IEP plan that spans over a dozen pages and is carefully and conscientiously crafted by a team of educators and therapists that I hold in great regard. her day has great scaffolding in place to support her in a varied and enriched setting where she is both included and receiving the one-to-one support and instruction she so clearly needs.

but, let’s be honest here: it’s not a magic panacea. she’s still struggling. she’s had, and continues to have, moments of such high anxiety that she’s reverted back to old patterns and behaviors where she seeks maladaptive sensory input to soothe. I see the scratches, the scabs, the peeled cuticles, the missing facial hair where a rash now exists. my heart aches for these tell-tale signs, and where words aren’t enough, I hold the little one and rock her as I’ve done for years. but I also kick our sensory strategies into high gear to stave off any tailspin, any regressions that lurk in the shadows.

for the first time this year, just this past week, she brought home some homework that she openly acknowledged she should do. we’ve had scant papers sent home over the school year but the mutual understanding has been to follow her lead on much of this and it’s a mutual understanding I deeply appreciate. but this week, it was a ruler and a question to measure two things and record your findings. so I sat back some and had the little one teach me what to do, how to do, when to do.

as a type A momma, this isn’t the easiest nor most comfortable route …but it is the most meaningful for us both.

so we measured – and not just in inches but in how far she’s come in a calendar year. she’s gained some, she’s lost some, but in all of this, she’s showing us all the way — her way. teaching us how to teach her. allowing us a peek at her world – slowly, meaningfully, deliberately. she’s succeeding in her own way and I don’t measure that success in her academics. far from it, actually. she has friends – not many but enough and the ones she has, boy!, are they fabulous. she’s navigating her day and finding joy along the way that she can relay to me later when we share our days with each other.

recently I attended an informal open house in her classroom and she was so anxious and so nervous — but insisted all week that I had to come. she followed it up with the scripting of her teacher’s words that if you couldn’t come, it was ok … but her eyes told a different story and this momma knew, just knew, how terribly important this all was. where the words fail her, her eyes speak volumes. so we went – stopping frequently in the walk from the car to the school front door to slow down, breathe, count, tell the ‘jumping-insides’ to just sit for a bit.

and there it was … her easel book. I had heard bits and pieces of this book for a while but what I saw just took me by surprise and awe. the pride and the internal success – she couldn’t contain herself. I couldn’t contain myself. her story was about an event that she and I shared and for the first time in any of her stories, she even described herself as ‘spinning in circles’ when she was excited. that’s what did me in: the self-awareness that she was expressing exactly who she is.

and then over on another area, her ‘tower book’ about a playdate with one of her best friends. oh, and just because she’s awesome like that, she’s also a reader these days … because she simply is succeeding in her own way and at her own pace. but more importantly, those around her are allowing her the space to take learning and success at her own pace, as they are able.

there’s a thought that success truly comes to those who believe in it. I believe success is measured differently than that. in our little home in the woods, we measure success in increments — sometimes even micro-increments. the measure of our success isn’t purely in report cards or even special education assessments: it is that we continue to learn from her, with her, alongside her. where she’s headed is for her to show — what she’ll achieve is for us to be awe-inspired by. where she’ll soar? heaven only knows … but, I’m so elated to be along for the ride, learning and measuring all the while.

“One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar.” – Helen Keller

.::. for the fresh-fallen snow that creates a new playground for young and not-so-young alike

.::. for little ones who remind us of what bravery looks like in real-time, even when the scary thing is getting up the courage to just stand by the big-guy with the white beard in the red suit

.::. for notes from friends telling of wonderful family news, for notes from friends reaching out to tell of some family sorrow and notes from friends telling of the mixed emotions bundled of growing their family through foster-adoption

.::. for days working at home with a large furry companion who never leaves my side, ever

.::. for schools and teachers and therapists who have created a space of support, of learning, of being appreciated at all moments (and for a little one who would rather go to school and not miss her occupational therapy than to stay at home with her momma on a snowy day … that’s bigger than you can ever imagine)

.::. for new local friends who joyously welcome your little one off the bus for an impromptu afternoon play-date and for blogger-friends who place a sweet note your inbox with the most gentle and heartfelt of messages that just linger in their thoughtfulness

.::. for the upcoming holidays {and a certain birthday} and the mixed bag of emotions they bring as we remember holidays past while celebrating today and celebrating the future, together

.::. for the time spent reflecting on this year’s word (mercy) and choosing another word to sustain, guide and ground for the upcoming year (go, tell my buddy alece what you’re choosing for your word, here and here)

.::. for our new home … it’s not much, but it’s ours and it’s the place that’s just begging us to make some memories inside its space